A Change in Song
by the Wallmaker
Summary: Set directly after Abhorsen. Lirael's taking up of the bells and new post as Abhorseninwaiting. What has changed since the rebinding of Orannis?


It's been a long, long time since I've done any writing, especially of Nix-fics. This one takes place directly after _Abhorsen_. When I began writing this, _Across the Wall_ had not been released here in Canada, so this fic does NOT follow that. It is not yet in my perception of canon (I'm probably reading it now as you're reading this…). I do hope you enjoy.

A Change In Song

Cradling the small soapstone statuette of the Dog in her arm, Lirael staggered away from the diamond of land that had not been scorched by the Destroyer. As she stumbled along, the remains of the grass crumbled into ash at her touch. Near the horizon, she could see where Orannis's power had not yet reached, where trees were still standing, where the grass was still lush and green. This view was blurred, for some reason. Lirael tried to blink this blurriness away, and felt hot tears spill down her cheeks and fall to her breast.

Lirael felt unbalanced in many ways. The bell bandolier was heavy on her chest, and her scabbard was light on her hip, since Nehima had been incinerated by the Re-Binding. She was unsure of how she would feel from one minute to the next; Astarael's peal was still in her ears, filling her with an inconsolable sorrow; yet she had finally found her destiny and her family. Lirael was about to aid her new-found nephew Sameth in helping Nick to stand when she was knocked over by what felt like a punch to her chest.

"Abhorsen!" she yelled as she hit the ground, but was shocked to see the same phenomenon occurring to her half-sister Sabriel. Their bell bandoliers were pulling themselves off; the pockets the bells nestled in were straining for the air. As Lirael's succeed in freeing itself, she made a jump and a grasp for it, but it stopped within her reach, vibrating. She tentatively put her hand out to retrieve it when a flash of brilliant golden light blinded all.

When her vision cleared, Sabriel found that her well-worn bandolier was in its accustomed place, slung across her right shoulder, the bells hanging down with Astarael just touching her belt.

"What happened?" Touchstone asked as he re-sheathed one of his twin swords.

Sabriel shook her head to indicate that she didn't know, and looked to Lirael. Lirael's bandolier was buckled on as well, but Sabriel's new-found sister did not leave the bells in place. With difficulty, Lirael undid the clasp of one of the pockets with her one hand, and withdrew the third bell.

"That flash came from -" Lirael paused to control her breathing, which had grown ragged again with emotion, "from Kibeth. Does the bell look different to you?"

The Abhorsen peered closely at the gleaming metal of the Walker, but shook her head again. "I sense there's a difference, but I don't know what it is," she trailed off.

Lirael held the bell out to Sameth, who paled and put his hands behind his back, loath to touch the tool of Mosrael's kin, though he did look on in wonder. "There are new marks there. I've never seen Charter marks quite like that on a bell." His eyes squinted shut as he tried to recall ever seeing these symbols. "In fact, I don't think I've seen them anywhere before." he said, rather apologetically.

Lirael slowly and thoughtfully replaced Kibeth to its pouch.

----

The green and gold Paperwing spiraled down to a small field. It had been half-a-year since the Destroyer's Re-Binding. Abhorsen-in-Waiting Lirael had been gifted with a magical hand, cunningly constructed with Charter Magic by the ever-learning-and-experimenting Wallmaker Sameth. She normally cloaked the golden appendage in a glove of supple deerskin and Charter marks, which kept the tell-tale gleam of the Charter- made limb from betraying her position to necromancers and their Shadow Hands. Today, as her half-sister whistled down the wind after spotting a legion of Dead working their way across a small sheep pasture in the twilight, Lirael pulled the glove off and carefully stowed it in her leather carry-all. Charter marks twinkled in the evening light, and she asked her sister which of the Skins she should use.

"I think the lyon was the most effective, Lirael, although if you wanted to try out the bear…" the Abhorsen called against the wind.

Shrugging, Lirael looked at the Charter Marks that glistened across the surface of her hand. "I'll carry on with the lyon, then."

As Sabriel began to ring Saraneth over the pasture that was filling with the Dead, Lirael spoke the activating Marks that set her Charter Skin in motion. Sameth had been ingenious in spelling her new hand to hold Charter Skins of various creatures. Not only were they much faster to physically put on, they had renewing spells, so she would not have to spend hours creating new ones. So far, the lyon had been the best to use while combating the Dead, which is what Lirael had been doing almost non-stop since taking up her post as Abhorsen-in-Waiting.

Charter marks swirled up her wrist, and Lirael watched as her golden hand transformed into a giant brown paw, outfitted with shining gold claws. The marks kept swirling up her arm, turning her into a large ferocious creature.

Shortly after taking up the symbols of her calling, she had discovered another advantage to using the Charter Skins; she could use her voice in lieu of the physical bells! This only worked when she put the Charter Skin on while _wearing_ her bells, of course, but it had been a long time since she had been anywhere without them.

As the Skin formed over her torso, she shifted from her seat onto the body of the Paperwing, growing larger under a cyclone of Charter marks. The Paperwing settled itself onto the browning grass of the field. Lirael pulled the marks for binding into her head, then held the Master Mark inside her feline mouth. She leapt from the flying device and let it go; the dominating tones of Saraneth left her with a terrifying roar.

The Dead were torn – strong lives were landing right in their midst! But these lives sought to dominate them and send them walking. The weaker-willed gave up their decrepit bodies with screams and began to wade the dark river of Death. However, the stronger of the Dead remained, grimly holding their own against the compelling intonation of the Binder.

Sabriel's sword gleamed as she cut through the first few Dead Hands to reach her. Lirael prowled around the large group, herding them together, her paws flashing out to claw decomposing legs. Roaring again, Lirael sprang into the middle of the group, cutting through them with her sharp claws, rendering their bodies useless, weakening their will. Sabriel steadily rang Saraneth, a constant tenor humming through the field.

Lirael was beginning to think that the path of Abhorsen might be an easy one to walk when her Charter Skin failed, and she was sprawled empty-handed amongst the Dead. Her muscles were still thinking that they were leonine, and she could not stand up. Her gold hand was not co-operating with her, and she was forced to pull a bell with one hand. Gasping, finally letting forth a terrified scream, Lirael fumbled with her bandolier. Her numb fingers touched faithful Kibeth, the Walker, as the first of the Dead reached her. She frantically shouted a blasting spell – golden marks swirled out of her mouth, scorching her throat but pushing the Hands back. She focused her will on the foremost Dead Hand and rang Kibeth. It sang a merry jig, complementing Saraneth's low tones. Lirael expanded her concentration to the rushing group of the Dead, and swung the bell in an arc, fearing that she might be too late.

----

Lirael slowly made her way through the palace towards Sameth's workshop, wondering what she would feel like at age 60, if she felt that old now. Her thighs burned as she climbed the stairs up to Sameth's tower, and as she neared the top, a strange voice called out "Aunt Lirael!"

She started and peered up, her long raven hair flipping about her shoulders. The only being there was a small rodent-like creature that was perched on the top step.

Suspiciously eyeing it, Lirael smiled as the faint glimmer of Charter marks gave away that it was one of Sam's creations.

"Aunt Lirael!" it squeaked. She reasoned that it recognized her and her Charter Mark, and had been made to announce visitors to Sameth.

Sure enough, as her still-tired legs carried her to the top stair of the tower, the door was flung open and Sam peered out.

"Did he shout too early? He's only supposed to start announcing when you reach the seventh stair from the top!"

"No, no. He did what he's supposed to. I'm just slow today," Lirael told her nephew and sighed. "It was a hard journey from the House."

"Are you alright? How is Mother?" Sameth stepped back and admitted Lirael into his workshop. She dazedly looked around at the array of tools and inventions that were scattered around the room. Her eyes swept past a member of the Royal Guard that was standing in the corner. Her inspection of the room was interrupted by Sameth's near-frantic questioning. "Where is she?" Sameth cried.

"She's fine; safe at the House," Lirael reassured him, before reluctantly continuing, "I fear I received the brunt of it, though, Sam. Something happened with my Charter Skin and I was attacked."

_The Dead rushed, frantic in their single-minded hunger for Life. Lirael drew her sword and held it at guard, and forced her un-co-operative muscles to curl her legs up, making a smaller target. _

_Sabriel__ whirled around and her half-sister's yell and tried to will the Dead away, swinging Saraneth, to no avail._

_As the Dead were about to reach her, the foremost Hand suddenly pulled ahead of the group and leapt, throwing itself in front of the others. Decomposing throats screamed in frustration as Lirael rolled further from harm. The Hands struggled to free themselves from their entanglement, and Lirael was able to finally stand up and stagger back. The Hand that had thrown itself was holding back the others at considerable cost to itself; it was slowly being torn apart by the rest of the Dead._

_Lirael came back to her senses and pulled Saraneth from her bandolier. Two Binders in concert successfully forced the remaining Hands into Death._

"What happened to the Skin? Did it fade? Or disassemble itself?"

Lirael was pulled away from her memory and smiled inwardly as she remembered her nephew's way of throwing himself head-first into problem solving, especially when dealing with Charter Magic. "I'm not sure," she said. "It was just suddenly gone! Sabriel didn't see what happened to it – she was facing the other way.

"I'd like to go into Death to See what happened exactly, but I don't think I should if my hand is damaged. Would you fix it, please, Sameth?"

Sameth nodded absently, then frowned, concentrating, and muttered to himself. The man in the corner of the workshop cleared his throat politely. Lirael looked up at him and was surprised to see that it wasn't one of the Royal Guard at all.

"Nicholas!" she gasped.

"Hello, Lirael," Nick said softly.

"It's so good to see you!" Lirael moved to take his hands when Sameth grabbed her golden one.

"Let me see this. The Skin was the bear?" Sameth was in his element.

"No, the lyon." Lirael smiled faintly over at Nick.

"Hnn – I need to go into the Charter." Lirael had experienced this when Sameth was still stabilizing her hand when it was first built; she would sit for what seemed like hours on end while Sameth's spirit delved the never-ending Charter for half-forgotten marks, his physical form needing contact with her gold hand. This time, though, instead of touching his own baptismal Charter mark, Sameth pressed his left palm to her golden one and touched her forehead with his right hand.

Lirael felt a sudden pull and blinked, finding herself next to Sam in the golden infinity of the Charter. _How-?_ Lirael felt herself speaking, but couldn't hear her own voice. Yet Sameth heard her.

_I don't know how I figured this out. Perhaps just instinctually, I suppose,_ Sameth seemed to be speaking right inside her head,_ but I've been bringing Nick here, to teach him Charter Magic. We usually have to use a spelled wand, both holding on to it to get here together like this – but I figured your hand would do. It's basically a Charter entity in itself._

Lirael looked down at her artificial hand and was confounded to see each and every Charter mark and spell that went into its making. It appeared to be completely unraveled before her.

_Here,_ Sameth said. _The Free Magic corroded some of the Skin's spell._

Some of the marks to which Sameth pointed were faded, and there were clearly gaps where marks had disappeared from entirely.

_Parts of the holding spell have been warped, too. Wait._ Sameth faded before her eyes, spirit returning to his body. As he departed, Lirael watched him draw his dagger, realizing what he needed.

Nick jumped, startled as Sameth returned, and jumped again as he watched Sameth cut into his own thumb. Blood smeared onto Lirael's motionless gold hand, and then seemed to absorb into it.

Nick opened his mouth to ask his friend what that was all about, but Sam was gone again, back into the Charter.

As her nephew re-appeared beside her, Lirael heard his voice in her head once more.

_There. Now I can…_ He trailed off and she watched as he drew new Charter marks into her spelled hand, then Lirael saw an image of herself creating a Charter Skin. _You'll have to do it over, again. _Sameth said.

_That's alright, _Lirael thought as she flexed her hand. _So if it comes into contact with too many Dead - ?_

_The spell will be corrupted again._

_I'll be more –_

"-careful. Thank-you, Sam." Lirael squeezed his shoulder before turning to Nick. "How are you?"

"Really well, thank-you," Nick told her eagerly. "Sameth has been teaching me all sorts of fascinating things about the Kingdom. I hope to write a series of papers about it for Ancelstierrian books, outlining the Charter so the people in my motherland understand it… They don't believe in Magic, you realize…"

Lirael smiled slightly, her eyes vacant, trying to imagine a life without the Charter, before Nick gained her attention again by asking if she'd like to see one of the spells that he'd learned.

Lirael nodded, reminded of the small Clayr girls that, before she grew too old and became even more of an outcast, always wanted to show her their new skills.

Nick straightened up and glanced at Sam, who was now irritatedly flipping one of his Feathercoins into the air. He looked back at Lirael and began to draw a mark that Lirael immediately recognized as one of disclosure and revealing. A white flower unfolded itself into Nick's hand, and Lirael was delighted when he handed it to her. She realized that it wasn't a real flower, but silk, and was made to be worn in the hair.

"I had concealed that when I first learned how, so that I would always have it for when I saw you again," Nick said, then seemed to think he might have said too much, and looked away embarrassedly.

Lirael fought her instinct to let her hair fall in front of her face to hide. Instead, she shook it behind her shoulders, tied it with the silk ribbon and felt to ensure that Nick's flower was right-side-up. Smiling, feeling her cheeks flush, she thanked him.

Sameth broke the silence with an extra-loud finger-snapping, calling his Feathercoin down. "I'm sure that Lirael has things to do…" he implied to Nick impatiently.

Taking the cue, Lirael thanked Nick again and made to leave, waving her golden hand at Sameth before starting down the stairs.

Sameth waited until his greeter gopher squeaked "Good-bye! Fare well!" before glaring at Nick.

"No," he said sternly.

"What?"

"I would rather not have you as my uncle!"

"She's my age!"

"I forbid it! You may _not _court my aunt!"

----

Lirael walked the length of the palace in order to inform the King of her comings and goings, and then spoke the mark that activated one of her Charter Skins. The semblance of a barking owl formed over her under a whirlwind of golden marks. She hopped over to the closest window and launched herself out into the air above the courtyard, reveling in the joy of flight.

She rode the thermals, spiraling up and up until Winding Post loomed before her, and she lit on it, brown feathers rustling. From this vantage point, she, with her owl's eyes in the dusk, could easily make out Ilsgard, the island that stands proudly in the Sea of Saere, guarding the Belis Mouth.

It was only a short flight to the treetops. She soared silently and landed in one of the tallest pine-trees. A brief reconnaissance of the island yielded only a few of the Dead. Before diving to the ground, Lirael opened her beak and a tinkling hoot issued forth, with it the sweet lullaby of Ranna, which carried the weakened Hands into Death and beyond the Ninth Gate.

With a final look around, Lirael shucked the skin. Blinking in the suddenly debilitating darkness, Lirael ran her hands down her bell bandolier, and checked that both paper boat and Dark Mirror were secure in the leather pocket tied to her belt. She sat at the base of a tree to wait for her human muscle co-ordination and limited night-vision to return. When she finally felt a bit rested, she pushed herself to her feet and held her hands out in front of her, crooked in the classic spell-casting stance. Ice frosted over her fine features as her spirit slipped into Death.

The river felt especially cold against her ankles and feet. Casting a wary eye around, Lirael grasped Saraneth, the mahogany handle comforting to her. The only sound was the ever-present burble of the water. When she was satisfied that there was no Free Magic creatures lying in wait, Lirael dipped into her leather pouch and fumbled a small paper boat out. The drop of blood was still drying on the prow of it. Remembering a page from _The Book of the Dead_, Lirael infused her breath with her will to see her closest friend. The small boat launched out over the water, slowly making its way to the First Gate and beyond.

Lirael knew that she would have to wait, and so, after another cautious look around the First Presinct, withdrew her Dark Mirror.

The sun reeled back only twice in the Mirror, and Lirael examined the battle that she was lucky to have survived. Throughout, there were twinges and fadings in her lion's tail and back paw that signaled to her that it was indeed Free Magic corrosion that damaged her Charter Skin. She had not doubted Sameth's conclusion, but needed to see for herself. She also watched the Dead very carefully, replaying her encounter. She couldn't comprehend what had happened when that one Hand had thrown itself onto the others. Lirael was still watching when the sound of the First Gate stopped. She clicked the Mirror shut and held Saraneth at the ready. She tensed, but relaxed completely when she saw her best friend romping over the water toward her. She had barely managed to put the bell back into her bandolier when the Disreputable Dog leapt upon her.

Her tail wagging furiously, she pawed at Lirael's arms, knocking her down. The Dog's tongue slobbered out to give sadly-missed kisses, and Lirael's determination collapsed, dissolving into tears of both grief and joy. Burying her face into the soft warmth of the Dog, she wept.

"There, there! Lirael! Don't cry. Death is just another journey! You know that!"

"But I miss you!" Lirael sobbed into the fur of Dog's shoulder.

The Dog woofled nonsense into her ear until Lirael quieted, and then succeeded in giving an extra-slobbery dog kiss. "I miss you, too."

Lirael sniffed, then collected herself. "Something happened; and I need to ask you about it. Can you see into my Mirror?"

"I don't have to. I saw." She looked embarrassed. "My bell's changed, hasn't it?"

"Why?" Lirael was amazed. "Why did it change?"

"Because I did!" She sounded surprised at Lirael's question. "I changed, and in changing, the properties of my bell were altered."

Lirael murmured as she began to understand. "You sacrificed yourself and so the Dead in thrall will also?" She hazarded a guess.

"Yes. Not all of the time, but only when needed. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lirael said as she reached up to give the Dog's ears a good scratching. "Yes, I do." They sat for a while in the leeching cold of the river for a while, though neither of them felt it.

"I love you, Dog."

"I love you, too, Lirael. You're the best friend one could ever hope to have."

Lirael sniffed again and stroked the Dog gently. Nothing else moved in the grey expanse of the First Presinct. Lirael felt tired suddenly, and seemed to realize at the same time as the Dog did that the river was leeching her spirit.

"Go on back, Lirael," the Dog said quietly.

"I want to stay with you!"

"It isn't your time and you know it!"

"I'll choose my own path!" Lirael began to weep again, her grief renewed.

"Lirael…" the Dog began, wanting to remind her mistress of responsibilities when she stopped. "Lirael, what's in your hair?"

"What?" Lirael, confused, patted the crown of her head, then her fingers followed the tresses down to the nape of her neck and touched soft silk. Nick's flower. Her eyes widened as substance returned to her spirit – colour in her cheeks. "A gift from Nicholas."

The Dog looked smug. "Go on back, Lirael," she said again. "And know that there will be other friends, and other loves."

Lirael felt the warmth of Life on her back, and stood. Caressing Dog once more, she turned around to begin her new life.


End file.
